One Small Thing: the gripping new page-turner essential for summer reading 2018!

I dig my face into the mattress as hot shame roils through me. I hate them. I hate Rachel. I hate myself most of all.

Because of my actions, the sweet animals at the shelter are going to suffer. Who’s going to take the doggies for a walk? Who’s going to feed Opie his medicine? I’m the only one that can handle the rottie. He hates everyone else at the clinic. And George, the snake? The techs there are scared of the python.

The sound of metal clanking against metal and the whirring of a drill grab my attention. I sit up and search for the source of the construction sounds.

My eyes clash with my dad’s, visible above the door he’s holding. He glares grimly at me before walking away. I gape at the open doorway. He removed my door. He fucking removed my fucking door.

I leap to my feet and rush over to the desk that’s still in the doorway. “What are you doing?” I say helplessly.

Mom appears in the hallway. “Sweetheart, please.”

“Are you serious?” I reach out, still in disbelief that my dad removed the door from the wall, but the empty hinges hang there in mocking proof.

“This is only temporary,” she says.

“It’ll be permanent if she can’t clean up her act,” Dad yells from below.

“Mom. I’m seventeen. I need a door to my bedroom.” I can’t believe my voice is so stable when my insides are rioting. “Even prisoners have a door!”

Her gaze falls to the floor. “It’s only temporary,” she repeats. “Until we can trust you again.”

I stumble back. “I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe this.”

“Don’t curse,” she snaps. “You know how much I hate that.”

“Right, because Rachel never cursed.”

“It’s not about Rachel.”

“Of course it is. Everything in my life is about Rachel. You let Rachel do whatever she wanted. She didn’t have to follow a single rule and it backfired on you, so now you’re doing the exact opposite with me,” I spit out. “You’ve kept me on a leash since she died, and now the collar’s so tight it’s going to choke me to death.”

“Don’t say that.” Mom’s eyes glitter dangerously. She advances, stopped only by the desk. “Don’t you say that. Don’t you say that word.”

“Or what?” I challenge. “You’re going to hit me again?”

Her face collapses. “I’m sorry I did that,” she whispers. “I—”

“What’s going on?” Dad has returned. He looks at me and then at Mom.

“Nothing,” we say at the same time.

And then we all fall silent because there’s nothing left on our tongues but caustic, hurtful words and we’ve done enough to inflict pain on each other. I return to my bed, shut my eyes and ignore the grunts from my father as he lifts the desk away from the doorway, the mewling noises of my mother as she frets over how our household is a war zone.

This is my life now. I’m imprisoned in my own home, with no privacy and no escape. Graduation can’t come soon enough.

5

The bus stinks of nerves and cold sweat. The freshmen are huddled toward the front, but the smell of their fear drifts all the way to the back. Next to me, Sarah Bunting chatters on about her new manicure and the “lit as fuck” Converse sneakers she scored at the Premium Outlets in Rosemont.

I turn my music up even louder and slouch down in the seat. Seventeen, licensed, has her own car, but still rides the bus. How lowering.

I keep my head down as I walk to my locker in the seniors’ wing. I don’t greet anyone and whether it’s the surly look on my face or something else, everyone leaves me alone.

I spin the locker combination, jerk my door open and stuff my backpack inside. My first class is AP Calc. Woo-hoo. At least there won’t be some long lecture—only a bunch of practice problems. I grab my supplies for the next three classes and slam the door shut. Scarlett’s face appears and I try not to jump in surprise.

“Hey,” I mutter.

“I’m so sorry.” She looks genuinely regretful.

First thing I did this morning was IM her with the heads-up that I’d been busted. With my parents having evidence that Scar and I have sneaked out to parties before, I had to warn her in case my parents snitched to hers.

“Forget it.” It’s not her fault, really.

“Everything is just going to shit, huh?” She sighs. “You’re having the worst luck—first your parents and TextGate, and now this.”

I guess she means the grounding. “They took my phone away, too,” I say glumly.

“Oh, okay, so that’s why you haven’t responded to the million messages I’ve sent you.”

“Yup.”

She clucks her tongue sympathetically. “I don’t know, maybe it’s a good thing you don’t have a phone right now. I can’t imagine what people are texting you. Kids can be so dumb.”

My cheeks feel hot. Why would anyone be texting me? Did someone see me at the party? Did they know what happened with me and Chase? Do they know what’s going on in my house? Did my parents actually tell other parents that they took the door off my room? God, this year is going to be nothing but one set of humiliations after another, all courtesy of my parents.

“Whatever.” I force one shoulder up in a careless gesture. “It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. After this year, we probably won’t see half these kids ever again.”

“Gosh, I hope not.” Scarlett tugs on my books. “Let me carry those.”

“Why? I can carry my books.”

“I know you can. I just... Forget it.” She slips her arm through mine. “Let’s go to Calc.”

“Why did we ever decide taking AP Calc was a good move?”

“Something about it looking good on our college apps. Have you decided what visits you’re going to do this fall?”

My mood dives even lower thinking of the applications Mom has stolen. Guess what. I’m going to get new ones and reapply. The problem is I can’t do it online because I need a credit card to pay the fees. I was able to mail a money order. I’m not sure how I’m going to pull off future applications, but I’m going to make it happen. Somehow.

“USC, Florida, Miami, San Diego State.” I rattle off my dream destinations. Granted, I have no clue what I want to major in, but at least I’ve got the location category confidently checked off.

Scarlett grins. “Hmm. I’m sensing a beach theme.”

“You’re so smart, Scar.”

“I know, but you don’t really want to go so far away, do you? I’ll miss you so much.”

Any response I would’ve had dries up at the sight of a tall, broad frame at the end of the hall. I wouldn’t have noticed him, if not for the fact that the entire senior hall has fallen silent.

My heart rate speeds up as my eyes meet familiar blue ones. Oh my God. Oh my God. What is he doing here?

“What is he doing here?” I say out loud before I can stop myself.

Crap. Now she’s going to ask how I know him and I’ll have to admit to meeting him at the party, and she’ll read between the lines and know exactly what I did. Or maybe someone from Darling saw Chase and me together and told everyone, and Scarlett already knows. Either way, embarrassment is burning holes in my cheeks.

Scarlett follows my gaze and halts in her tracks. “Right? The nerve of that guy! To show up here.” She steps forward and then turns to try to block my view of Chase. “I can’t believe they didn’t make him go to a different school, but I’m sure it has to do with his mom being the mayor’s wife now.” She tsks again. “Favoritism is so gross.”

“He’s the mayor’s stepson?” I say blankly.

“I didn’t know that either until this morning. Wendy Bluth said that his mother was secretly dating the mayor for years and they just tied the knot this spring. I don’t think anyone would’ve voted for him if they’d known the truth.”

“The truth?” I’m so confused.

Scarlett’s mouth turns into a sympathetic frown. “I get it. You don’t want to talk about it.” She glances over her shoulder to check if Chase is still there. “It’s weird. I didn’t even recognize him at first because he looks totally different, but you can’t mistake the scar.”

My bewilderment deepens. There’s no reason for Scarlett to recognize him at all. She wasn’t even at the party.

I turn back and stare. He doesn’t look any different from Saturday night. He looks exactly the same. Breathtakingly attractive. His chin is completely clean today. His dark blond hair sweeps down in the front, almost, but not quite, covering the scar that bisects his eyebrow.

I kissed that scar a few times that night.

The heat of embarrassment creeps through me again. I can’t believe he’s standing ten feet away from me right now. I thought I’d never see him again, and I was okay with it because that was the less humiliating option. Coming face-to-face with him again after what we did is a million times more humiliating.

Our eyes lock. My breath catches. Scarlett’s saying something, but I can’t hear her over the roaring mortification in my ears. Or is that something else I’m feeling? I swallow and it feels like there are razor blades in my throat.

“Come on,” she says. “Just ignore him. He isn’t worth your time.”

How does she know? “Does he have a rep?” I ask hoarsely, because it suddenly occurs to me what might’ve happened. If Chase has the reputation of being a player, maybe he bragged about Saturday night to anyone who’d listen. Darling and Lexington Heights are neighboring towns—word travels fast if the right people are talking about it.

“Meaning does everyone know about him?” she asks.

I nod without looking at her.

“Of course everyone knows about him.” She huffs in disgust. “Oh, there’s Jeff.”

A flicker of green catches my eye. Directly over Chase’s shoulder, Jeff Corsen’s dark head appears.

I’m not too surprised to see him. I heard he was coming back to Darling. After Rachel died, Jeff totally broke down. Barely managed to finish his sophomore year and then disappeared for more than two years. Grief, his parents said. They sent him to England to live with his grandparents, but apparently he didn’t finish senior year over there because he’s back at Darling High. It’s weird that my sister’s boyfriend, who used to be two years ahead of me, is now in the same grade.

In his forest green hoodie and faded jeans, Jeff strides forward, his shoulder deliberately bumping Chase’s. It breaks our eye contact. Chase’s mouth thins and I tense up, anticipating a confrontation. But then Chase merely turns aside, ignoring the insult.

He’s not fazed by a thing. Not by seeing his hookup standing at the end of the hall on the first day at a new school. Not by being physically brushed aside by another guy. Not by the stares and silence of his new classmates.

I envy that. God, I envy his composure a lot. It reminds me of why I was attracted to him in the first place. There’s a surety about him. Like, a hurricane could sweep through and he’d still be standing in the hall, feet firmly planted, shoulders back.

I bet his parents wouldn’t have the nerve to take the door off his bedroom.

Noise penetrates my brain. Jeff’s appearance has broken the spell cast by Chase. A few classmates laugh. Others rush up to greet Jeff. He was popular before he left. He and Rachel were the golden couple. If she’d lived to her senior year, the two of them would’ve been king and queen of homecoming and the prom.

If she’d lived... My heart seizes up and a familiar discomfort churns in my stomach. I’m not going to think about that.

Instead, I wonder what it was like for Rachel, to be so loved by a guy that he had to move to another country to recover from her death. Did he love her more than I did? I know my parents think I didn’t love Rachel enough, that I don’t mourn her like I should. If I did, I’d behave.

I did love her, though. We were two years apart, but she never treated me like I was a bratty little sister, not even when she started high school and I was still in middle school. We helped each other with homework. We played volleyball. We had slumber parties in her room. She was my big sister. Of course I loved her.

I swallow the pain again. Banish it. Unlike my parents, I won’t let myself obsess over Rachel. I can’t.

“Hey, Lizzie,” Jeff says when he reaches me. His hand, the one with the long, elegant fingers that floated across the piano keys, reaches out and curves around my ear. “Long time, no see.”

“It’s Beth.” When he makes a quizzical face, I repeat, “Beth. I don’t go by Lizzie anymore.”

“All right. Beth it is. How are you?”

“Hi, Jeff!” Scarlett chirps at my side before I can respond.

“Scarlett,” he says. His voice is different, accented.

Scarlett notices. “Oh my God. You came back with an accent. That’s so cool.”

“Is it?” Jeff cocks his head. Behind him, I spot Chase again. His face is half-hidden by the locker door, but I know it’s him.

My body tingles. I guess I’d know it was him if I was blindfolded. A connection was made the other night—one that neither of us can really deny by the looks of the way we stared at each other before Jeff appeared.

Why am I the one ashamed of what happened? It was my choice. I wanted it. The thing I should be embarrassed about is running off like a scared girl. But I can’t help it.

I’ve never been one of those girls who pictured candles and rose petals for her first time, but I at least thought I’d be going out with the guy I gave my V-card to. He’d be my boyfriend, and we’d take it slow and make out a bunch and fool around until we eventually did the deed. But that didn’t happen, and I don’t know how I feel about that.

What I do know is that I can’t let him, or anyone else, see how shaken up I am. I straighten my shoulders. Confidence is what Chase has. I want that.

“Nice to see you, Jeff,” I say, and then I take a few steps forward, in Chase’s direction.

“Wait—” Scar catches my arm. “Do you really think this is a good idea?”

“Why not?” I shrug. “He obviously goes to school here. I might as well face up to him now instead of trying to hide from him for the next nine months.”

“There’s no reason for you to talk to him,” Jeff says. “We’ll keep him away.” He throws a dark look over his shoulder toward Chase, who’s gathered his books and is walking away.

Yeah, Chase definitely has a rep. Even Jeff, who’s been gone for so long, has apparently heard that something went down between me and Chase. That means word’s gotten around.

A spark of anger lights my belly as I picture Chase bragging to all those Lex kids that he bagged a Darling girl.

I speed up, walking fast down the hall with my eyes pinned on Chase’s back.

He’s an island. Like, there’s literally a bubble of space around him, which is shocking given the size of my class. Three hundred seniors attend Darling. The halls are packed this morning, yet no one seems to be able to penetrate his personal space. Fuck. I kinda love that.

I walk faster, waving hello to classmates but not stopping until I reach Chase. He’s halted in front of the AP Calc room. How convenient.

I hug my books close to my chest and clear my throat. “Chase.”

He spins slowly until we’re facing each other. “Beth.”

Despite my anger that he might’ve told people about us, I appreciate that he calls me Beth. He knows me only as that. I don’t have to remind him that it’s my name now.

“Who’d you tell?” I say bluntly.

He wrinkles his forehead. “Tell?”

“Yeah, who did you tell?” I repeat, sounding way more confident and confrontational than I feel right now. Just being in his presence is fogging my mind. “About Saturday night.”

Rather than flush or look sheepish, he meets my gaze head-on. “Nobody.”

“Nobody,” I echo, still suspicious.

“Yeah. Why would I tell anyone?” he says simply.

For some inexplicable reason, I believe him. I believe he’s kept quiet about what we did at the party. Someone else must’ve seen us. Maybe someone saw me coming out of that bedroom. Ashleigh, or the guy who owned the house. Whoever it was, I know it wasn’t Chase.

“All right, then,” I say with a nod.

The corners of his eyes crinkle in humor. “All right, then,” he echoes.

Anger dissipating, I brush by him, open the classroom door and then reach back and grab the sleeve of his untucked and unbuttoned denim shirt to pull him inside. “So I don’t know if you’ve heard the scoop, but the AP Calc teacher is a monster. Rumor has it she stays up nights and spends her weekends thinking of new ways to torture us. Expect constant pop quizzes and no-mercy midterms.”

He sounds amused. “Okay.”

There are a few other students inside. Macy Stedman waves to me until she notices Chase. Then her hand falls and her face grows anxious.

“Lizzie, come here.” She motions me over.

“Lizzie?” asks Chase, an odd note in his voice.

“It’s Beth,” I tell him. “Elizabeth Jones.”

There’s a long, strained beat.

“Elizabeth Jones?” he chokes out.

“Yes. But everyone calls me Beth.”

He jerks his arm out of my grip. My hand drops to my side. I flush lightly, embarrassed by his sudden need to get away from me.

“Did you tell me your last name the other night?” His voice is low and harsh. I have to lean in to hear him.

“Maybe. No. Probably not.” I don’t know his, either, I realize. “Why? What’s yours?”

“Lizzie! I need to talk to you!” Macy calls shrilly.

“It’s Beth,” I tell her between gritted teeth. “And I’ll be there in a sec.” I turn back to Chase, whose face is chalk white. “What’s yours?” I repeat.

He licks his lips and takes another step back. And then another. Until two desks are between us. “I’m Charles Donnelly. And I’m sorry.”

With that, he turns on his heel and walks out of the classroom.

Charles Donnelly.

My stomach lurches. “I thought your name was Chase!” I yell after him.

Macy appears at my shoulder. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

I turn bewildered eyes to her, hoping for some help in processing what I just learned. “That was Charles Donnelly?”

“Uh-huh.” She nods and rubs a hand up my arm.

“I didn’t recognize him.” My head’s clogged up. I can’t stop blinking.

“He’s changed a lot. Prison will do that for you,” she sneers toward the empty doorway. “Come on. I bet you’re in shock. I can’t believe you have classes with him. Admin sucks. They are so incompetent.” She leads me over to the desk next to hers. “Should I get you a water? Or, um, a Coke maybe? I’ll get a Coke. Be right back.”

I barely register her leaving because my mind is still whirling over the fact that I slept with Charles Donnelly.

The guy who killed my sister.

I barely make it to the trash can before my breakfast surges violently up my throat.

6

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Macy asks for what feels like the thousandth time.

“Yep,” I answer as brightly as possible. The lunchroom’s familiar buzz isn’t settling my nerves like I’d hoped. Instead, I keep wondering how many of those conversations are about me. I’m not blind to the fact that there was a shit ton of head turning when I entered.

“You didn’t stay in the nurse’s office very long,” Scarlett says quietly. “I would’ve lain in there all day.”

“He shouldn’t even be here,” Macy insists. “Like why isn’t he at Lexington Public or Lincoln?”

“The mayor lives in Grove Heights and that’s Darling school district,” Yvonne, one of my other friends, points out.

A voice of reason. I throw her a small relieved smile. She frowns in return, as if smiling is not permitted at a time like this, so I let my gaze fall back onto my unappealing salad.

“The mayor should open enroll him into Lex. Isn’t that where all the delinquents hang out?” Macy asks.

“There was that huge drug bust in the parking lot last year,” Yvonne confirms. “Their quarterback got sent to juvie.”

“Do you think Charlie and him were in the same cell?” Macy’s tone is scandalized, but she leans forward, elbows on the table, anxious for more gossip.

“Wow. I never thought of that,” Yvonne says.

The table falls silent as they all contemplate this possible turn of events. I shove some wilted lettuce in my mouth and pray that we change the subject.

I’m Charles Donnelly. And I’m sorry.

His rough words keep running through my mind and I’m not trying very hard to shut them out. It’s like when you have a song stuck in your head and you force yourself to listen to it a hundred times until you get so sick of it you never want to hear it again. I’m forcing myself to think about Chase’s—no, Charlie’s—words, to picture his ashen, pained expression when he realized who I was. Maybe if I think about it long and hard enough, I can make sense of what happened without wanting to puke my guts out.

“He is...hot, though, don’t you think?” Macy says in a hushed voice.

Scarlett gasps. “Oh my God, Macy.”

“I’m just saying. He’s hot and you’re all lying if you deny it.” Macy pouts, sitting back in her lunchroom chair.

I hunch over my salad and hope that my friends can’t see my reddened cheeks. I thought he was hot, too. Saturday night, I thought he was the best-looking guy I’d ever laid eyes on. I still do, and that makes me even sicker. I set down my fork and try to breathe through the layer of bile coating my throat.

“He’s not hot. He’s gross. He killed someone,” Yvonne says in disgust.

“Not someone.” Scarlett’s voice rises. “Lizzie’s sister. He killed Lizzie’s sister.”

She’s loud enough that conversation stops at the tables next to ours. I want to slide under the table. I thought my worst day of school was the one where Michelle Harvey spilled her apple juice in my lap during third grade and then Colin Riley ran around telling everyone I’d peed myself. No, the worst day of school was the day they held the memorial for Rachel here. That was definitely the worst. I didn’t cry and everyone eyed me with suspicion. Like I should’ve been curled up in a ball on the ground, comatose with grief and unable to function.

Anxiously, I change the subject. “So does the Calc homework look hard?” I ask Scarlett.

Thankfully she picks up on my distress immediately. “No. She only assigned five problems and they were all review.”

“Great.”

“Do you want to go over them tonight?” she offers. “We can IM.”

“Nah, I think I’m going to do them right when I get home and then go to bed. I have a headache.”

“Of course you do,” Macy coos. She pulls my head onto her shoulder. “You should stay home tomorrow, too.”

I will if it’s going to be like this.

* * *

I sleepwalk through my final classes of the day. Word has spread like fire throughout the school. It reminds me of the first day of high school when everyone whispered behind their hands, “There goes the dead girl’s sister.”

I shove my earbuds in the minute the last bell rings and blast my music so loud that it hurts. I keep them on, not pulling them out until the bus rolls past the drop. Wearily, I trudge to my front door.

Mom is waiting inside, concern etched into her face and her taut frame. I run a shaky hand through my hair. I’m not up for this. Not one bit.

“How was your day?” She tries to reach for my backpack.

I jerk out of her reach and drop the backpack onto my section of the mudroom bench. Rachel’s space is completely empty, of course. Mom keeps it that way as if Rachel’s going to show up one day and need a place to put her shoes and coats.

“How do you think it was?” From the worry in her eyes, I know she’s heard about Charlie Donnelly’s appearance at school. “Did you know he was going to Darling High?”

She hesitates, only for a beat, and a rush of anger spirals through me.

“Oh my God, you totally knew,” I accuse. My parents knew he was back in town and they hadn’t said a single word to me about it?

“I’m sorry. When the nurse called and said you were sick... I know we should’ve said something last night... It was just... We were too...” She trails off, unable to come up with the words.